


Forever and Always

by Serenara



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge, Character Death, Christian!Baz, Courtesan Simon Snow, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Or Is It?, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Satine!Simon, Simon is in denial a lot, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Writer Baz Pitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenara/pseuds/Serenara
Summary: The year is 1900, Paris, the height of the Bohemian Revolution and Basilton has left his family behind to pursue his love of writing with the help of the man who fell through his roof and his friend.Simon Snow is the shining gem of the Moulin Rouge, taken in by a powerful benefactor to ensure he always has a roof over his head in exchange for being the Moulin's leading Courtesan.The two were never supposed to meet, but thanks to a series of impossible coincidences, they both may just find the Freedom they're looking for.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 7





	Forever and Always

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to add a few disclaimers here, in case these questions do come up later on. One being that I admittedly only have information from this time period in the context of Moulin Rouge, so if I get some points wrong then I do apologize and I'm happy to listen to any constructive criticism on that matter.
> 
> Number two is that I've taken a lot of creative liberty with this so some roles and plot points may be changed around to fit the character context.
> 
> Thank you so much for checking out my little emotional support fic ramble here ;w;

> _The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, then be loved in return_

I never thought that I would end up here, sitting inside a small room with nothing but my typewriter sitting upon my lap and the evening sun caressing my face as I attempt to tell the story that never should have ended. That never will, so long as my words reach you and you tell the next person and so on, sharing this with anyone you may meet.

Because this isn’t my story, but rather one that needs to be told.

My name… the name I _used_ to have bears no weight any longer, so I supposed the best way to address me would be Basilton. Before I found myself here left with nothing but my words I held a great deal of power, my family being those who ruled over what would now be known as the after-hours entertainment for those who wished to forget about their lives for a few hours. It was my mother who managed to establish the greatest of such businesses in order to take in those with talent and nowhere to go.

I remember very little about the way things used to be there, beyond the building interior prior to the decor being chosen out for the great vision my mother had and that my father had sold the building immediately to an unknown investor that he never met before. The name was changed, but that failed to keep business from growing as time went on.

This was the birth of the Moulin Rouge.

As for me, I had left my father (by extension, my family) to pursue all that I loved. Very little of my time was spent looking toward what my father would have wanted, being pursuing his side of the family business, nor what my mother claimed to wish for me, taking over her home of performers once she was incapable of doing so. 

My heart always belonged to a pen and paper, but never in the way that was expected of me. Rather than numbers I would create magic, weaving stories from my mind to capture a hypothetical audience that would never get to see these words. Sad, perhaps, but it was expected.

That was just the reason I left my life behind. A boy’s attempt to chase after the dream of freedom which was painted beyond the window which was nothing more than the bars of the prison called ‘duty’.

All it took was one step and a quick breath of courage to take the final leap, leaving the world I knew behind.

Which is why I say that I have nothing inside this room. Actually, it was a miracle I managed to find this in the first place due to how many others I saw looking for a roof over their head on my way here.

I do my best not to think about that.

Not that it was all particularly clean for long given the fact that a mere day after I moved in to make myself at home and begin my latest attempt at finding the magic in my words, someone crashed through the ceiling onto my floor.

The man happened to be conscious and completely unresponsive when I did my best to rouse him, only seconds before a voice called through the brand new sun light that was right in the middle of my abode.

"Oi! Dev, I told you that jumpin’ off the ladder was a horrible idea mate-"

Another man peered through the hold to see me standing beside the almost-dead friend he called ‘Dev’, quickly looking me over for a reason I still find myself incapable of explaining.

"Mind helpin’ get that bugger back up here?’ He said, grinning down at me before jumping to join me on this floor. MY floor. ‘Got a hard head, that one. Doesn’t stop him from pullin’ these stunts though."

"You mean to tell me this happens _often_ -"

"Yeah. Gotta give some things a go without thinkin’ too much about it. Otherwise good ideas’ll be gone in an instant. C’mon, lets get him back."

A word of warning to anyone who finds themselves requested to help a stranger haul their friend back up to their room; do not. Whatever they may offer you, it’s a trap meant to trick you into being the one to hold the feet of a heavy stranger while the other manages to lose his footing every three seconds leaving you about to collapse at the very bottom of the stairs, arms full of someone I had rather begun to think was more trouble than was worth.

No matter how I may feel on this particular topic, we do manage to make it through the door to which I see a great many things that catch my eye. It would be a trial to list them all here, but it was the makeshift stage that took all priority in my mind. The setting was simplistic in a way where it was obvious that it was made from spare fabric and wood left lying around, yet appealing in that same rustic charm.

My jaw dropped, nearly earning a foot full of unconscious stranger due to the distraction, yet when I pulled myself back from the fantasy I could see the red haired boy smiling at me from where he now stood to my left.

"Gotcha attention didn’t it? Made it ourselves" His gaze turned from me to instead focus on their setup, frowning instead of the smile I had assumed he would wear. "Problem is, we don’t have a good story to go with it. Nothin’ sticks. That’s why Dev tried the stunt, sayin’ it might give the spark we need."

"Endangering one’s well being provides the creative spark?"

"Sometimes. You never know till you try."

"That seems rather… counterproductive."

"In that case, just give it a try yourself Mr. Underground Man."

It was an effort not to roll my eyes in response, but I pulled that urge back to instead walk forward and inspect the stage with my own two hands. Everything was barely sanded, sheets and various fabrics covered every surface, there was little to no refinement with the entire operation very clearly being spearheaded by only two people with minimal experience between them.

Yet it was charming. They claimed to not have any ideas, yet my head was filled by nothing _but_. From tales of times past to those from beyond the stars, star crossed lovers who could never be, magic and mayhem and monsters which could never exist within our own world.

"The hills are alive…’"

"Y’aight there mate?"

I hadn’t realized at the time, but words had managed to escape my mouth voicing my thoughts into the open. Perhaps I would be shot down the same way I always was, but I had a feeling this could be the start of something quite spectacular if I just took one more step…

"Merely thinking. How your set is put together… perhaps instead of throwing yourselves into harm's way like it seems you remain determined to, why not turn it into something poetic. The hills are alive with the sound of music… a story of courage in the face of strife, a fight to find one’s own voice. Music which grants one freedom."

My breath stopped as I waited to hear the response, after a while growing concerned when I heard nothing only to look back and see both men smiling back at me. Their eyes full of plans which I feared I was about to find out, whether I desired it or not.

"You ever thought about writin' a show?"

"Of course not." I raised my eyebrow in responses, my hands pulling away from the set where I had previously been running them along. "I arrived the other day to wait for a calm moment to be alone with my paper, only to be disturbed by your… _friend_ falling through my roof."

"In that case, you got free time? We’ve never been particularly good in the writin’ department and you fit the bill. And anyway, did you even get very _far_ through that writin’ you were doin’?"

While frustrating to admit, I knew full well that even if I had never found myself in this room there was almost no chance of being able to come up with a story to note down to myself. I had no time to truly search my surroundings for the adventures I was so looking forward to, especially while the proclaimed ‘Bohemian Revolution’ was happening around me. 

Perhaps if I left now and returned to my study, there would be a better chance. Unfortunately said chance would be me writing about what I had come to speak of… hills, music, freedom… 

"Gonna say you didn’t, by that look on your face. Seems crazy to me since you’ve got the real spirit of the Revolution within you."

"’Spirit of the Revolution’? Are you listening to yourself?"

"Sure. That’s why we’re all here ain’t it? We’re all Children of the Revolution, so why not chase after it?"

"That’s rather-"

I’m cut off by a hand suddenly on my shoulder, realizing that the other man who the red haired boy called ‘Dev’ had now regained consciousness. Although I wish I could say I handled this with utter poise and grace, I fear that instead I jumped with a hand flying to my mouth in a foolish attempt to hide a squeak.

"Do you believe in truth?" He asked, smiling up at me.

"Yes, I suppose."

"What about beauty?" 

"Of all forms."

"Freedom?"

I couldn’t bring myself to answer, instead choosing to nod. Freedom was the entire reason I had managed to bring myself here, to chase my belief in the way I can arrange my words to bring emotions to life. What reason did I have to lose faith in that now?

"How ‘bout love?" The red head asked me, leaning on one of the far set pieces while looking toward me.

It was such an abstract concept, one I could only vaguely remember feeling in the past. Love from my mother, who had now passed on, the love from my father who stopped showing it so after she left. Love for my siblings who I may never see again.

‘Love’ is an emotion that had slipped through my hands so many times, yet I could imagine what it was like to fall in love. Such a powerful thing, one that could let you reach the highest peaks or push through the darkest seas, just to see the person you loved once again. 

Something I wished to feel for myself.

"Above all things, I believe in love."

Dev patted my shoulder as he moved to rejoin the other, moving through all sorts of tools left in abundance on the ground. "Then you _are_ part of the Bohemian Revolution, just like me and Niall."

"We’re pitchin’ our show to Penelope Bunce, for the Moulin Rouge, but we’re constantly hittin’ roadblocks. I reckon you can get through them easy. Watcha say, o stranger?"

"Basilton."

"Eh?"

"My name. Basilton."

"Kinda long, dontcha think. How about ‘Baz’. Makes you seem less uptight."

Dev laughed from where he was when he saw my face twist in disgust, one arm now wrapped around Niall’s shoulders. "Don’t worry. He does this for everyone. You don’t think my full name is Dev, do you?"

I found myself smirking, on the edge of laughter as I hear both of them fall into a fit together. This was the first time anyone ever tried to make me feel truly welcome, ready to accept me with open arms. And what they were offering me…

A chance to write a show for the Moulin Rouge. The house my mother had built with only good intentions. It just so happened to be the chance of a lifetime, one which my heart refused to let slip through my fingers.

"Baz it is. I look forward to working with you both."

All I see is Niall’s toothy grin before I’m whisked away to try what they call ‘Absinthe’.

In case you might be wondering I swore off the drink after waking up suspended upside down from the rafters covered in ripped paper which I can only assume came from Niall, who managed to get such pieces glued to himself with Dev passed out in the other corner.


End file.
